The Caddell Thesis
by Len
Summary: Josh/Donna: Josh finds something incriminating one Donna's desk. Fourth in the Operation Moss series.


  
The Caddell Thesis 1/?  
By: Len   
Spoilers: Up to and maybe including SGTE, SBTJ (whew!)  
Rating: PG-13  
Teaser: Josh finds something incriminating on Donna's desk. Fourth in the Operation Moss series.  
Disclaimer: None of these characters or these concepts belongs to me, except for those that do. And as the busking idea I mentioned previously failed badly, I think I'll stop trying to make a profit off these fanfics. (-:  
notes: I had to use Caddell's thesis for one of my stories, because it turns out he now works as a producer and advisor for--wait for it--The West Wing!!! Bwahahaha....   
Also: If you're a fan of Josh/Donna fic, why not check out the JoshDonnaFF yahoo group? You won't regret it!!  
  
~*~ PART ONE ~*~  
  
I investigate the bottom of the popcorn bowl with my hand for any missed cornels. There are none. Donna has eaten all of it. I suppose it _was_ her popcorn, but a little courtesy would have been appreciated. I haven't eaten since...well, I can't actually remember. It doesn't matter.  
  
"Shhhh!" Donna says, jabbing her elbow into my side. "It's the good part."  
  
"It's the ending."  
  
"Yeah. And I can't hear it over all that rattling you're making."  
  
"Of course you can. This place has got state of the art surround-sound built into the--"  
  
"Josh!"  
  
"Fine."  
  
I don't like this movie. I try to avoid black and white movies as a general rule, because lack of color usually indicates a lack of action. The more cars that explode, the better the movie, I always say.  
  
Donna does not agree with me. Sometimes I wonder if she makes a habit of not agreeing with me just so we can have something to argue about. I watch her profile as she stares rapt at the movie screen. The dim lights make her face look even more delicate, more like a Renaissance work of art.   
  
The President and Ellie are sitting on the couches at the front of the room, looking more as ease with each other than I've seen them in a while. As dramatic music starts to play, I see him reach over and give her shoulder a squeeze. She turns and smiles up at him.  
  
What would it be like, I wonder? To have that kind of unconditional love bestowed on you? I mean, sure, I have my mom and she loves me--but to have a child look at me like that...I think I understand what the President meant. There are worse reasons to do something.  
  
"Hey," Donna says softly, giving me a little shove, "Lets get out of here and beat the rush."  
  
"What rush? There's only twenty people in the whole room."  
  
Donna doesn't reply. She just gives me a Look. I get up and leave.  
  
"So what'd ya think?" she asks once we are outside.  
  
I think I have a crick in my neck and my arm hurts for no particular reason. But I don't say that. "To be honest, I wasn't paying much attention," I try.  
  
"What a wet blanket."  
  
"What did you call me?"  
  
"A wet blanket," she repeats, and she has her bantering face on. "A stick in the mud. A grinch. A curmudgeon...Josh?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
I laugh, unconvincingly. "Why do you think something is wrong?"  
  
"Because I just called you a curmudgeon and you did nothing."  
  
"I am not a curmudgeon."  
  
"You're acting like one."  
  
"Well, thank you Julia Roberts...."  
  
She does an impressive hop-skip-jump thing and ends up in front of me. "What'd the President say?"  
  
"We let the Surgeon General off the hook--she has our full support."  
  
Donna smiles victoriously. "Good!"  
  
"Yeah." I try to move past her into my office. Right now, I just want to go to bed--this hasn't exactly been the best day of my life. But Donna follows me in and crosses her arms.  
  
"Because she didn't do anything wrong, you know."  
  
"Yeah, I do know, and do you know how I know?" Donna looks curious. "I know because not only has the President of the United States told me so, but so have you--many, many times."  
  
If I had hoped this would avert her lecture, I was wrong. "From a political standpoint, I understand it wasn't the best move, but from an ethical standpoint--she was just doing her job, Josh."  
  
"Are we really going to have this conversation again?"  
  
"You know I'm right, Josh."  
  
"I never said you were wrong," I reply. Oh, that was a masterful stroke. Donna beams at me and starts to leave. Twenty points to Lyman!  
  
"Okay. So we're done?"  
  
"Yep." She starts to leave, but I stop her. "Hey Donna?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You know, the President said something else. And..."  
  
She now has her concerned face on, blue eyes wide. "What?"  
  
"It just occurred to me how lucky he is."  
  
"Josh, he's the President of the United States and you just realized how lucky he is?"  
  
"No, it's just--when I have kids, I want them to end up like Ellie and Zoey, and Elizabeth. He's a lucky man. I just realized."  
  
Okay, I may have ventured a little too far into the sentimental no-mans land that we try to avoid. I cough and mess with a file on my desk, but I see her face soften.  
  
"Josh, with you as a father, I really don't think they could be anything but amazing," Donna replies softly.   
  
Oh.  
  
I watch her leave and I pick up my backpack and coat. For some reason lately, I've actually been able to finish my work in time to leave with Donna. For the last couple of weeks we've had extended banter sessions over the tops of our respective cars in the parking garage.   
  
I wander out to wait for Donna, and run into CJ and Sam coming back from the theater.  
  
"Josh, Toby wants to talk to you and Leo about the thing," Sam says. He is, as always, annoyingly perky.  
  
"Can't it wait?" I moan.  
  
CJ pops her head out of her office. "Hang on, let me call a special briefing. Did I really just hear Josh Lyman express a desire to go home like a normal human being?"  
  
I run a hand over my face. "Honestly, CJ, I'm not in the mood...."  
  
"Ready to go?" Donna asks, materializing next to me.  
  
"Apparently," I say, removing my coat again, "Toby has demanded my presence. I'll hang around here for a while longer."  
  
"Oh. Well, I'll wait for you--" Donna looks concerned. "If you need me for something?"  
  
"Nah. Go home. Early tomorrow, though," I remind her.  
  
She smirks. "Yeah, yeah. Bye Josh. See you, CJ, Sam!"  
  
I watch her walk out of the bullpen and turn around to find Sam smiling at me. I find his smile extremely annoying as well. "What?" I demand.  
  
"Oh, nothing." He doesn't stop smiling.  
  
"What thing does Toby want to talk about that requires my immediate attention?"  
  
"I don't know. So you're not jealous, huh?"  
  
I do a double take. "What? Jealous? Of who?"  
  
Bam. Just like that, Sam has his guilty face on. At least, that's how Donna has described it. "Is there something I should know, Sam?" I ask menacingly. He tries for innocent.  
  
"No..."  
  
"CJ!" I bellow. She pops her head out of her office again.   
  
"Will you stop that? You sound like a child having a temper tantrum."  
  
"Who is Donna's new boyfriend, CJ?"  
  
I watch as a particularly sappy smile spreads across my friend's face. "Oh, she hasn't told you about him?"  
  
"CJ, I really think--" Sam starts. CJ talks over him.  
  
"He looks like James Bond, Josh. Seriously. I mean, one look at him and all the women in the building said, 'Move over, Lord Marbury'. Not that I don't love his Lordship anymore..."  
  
"CJ! A name? Who is he? I don't care what he--" I swallow, "Looks like."  
  
She disappears back into her office. "It was David something," she calls.  
  
"Marienetti," Sam supplies. I detect a certain amount of reluctance. Donna must have guilted him at some point. "He's the newest Wunderkind working in legal. Graduate of Duke Law, as a matter of fact. Widower, no kids. Nice place in Georgetown. Drives a Honda Civic."  
  
I don't believe this. I have been betrayed by all of my friends. I round on Sam. "When did you have an in-depth conversation with this guy and not tell me about it?"  
  
"I didn't. I did some checking." Sam starts to move off to the communications bullpen. "She's my friend too, you know, Josh. And he seemed too good-looking to be real, so I checked. You'd better find Toby!" he warns.  
  
I sigh and look down at Donna's desk. If I find any love letters from this guy, I will go down and slash his tires. But apart from the hand lotion she's not supposed to have, there is only a blue book with a battered cover. It is dog-eared and bristling with Post-it notes. Curious, I open it.  
  
"Well, well..." Donna's been studying. There is a section on polling in here and it's highlighted. I recognize a few of the examples given as ones that Donna spouted at me between Joey Lucas lectures during the State of the Union. The next heavily highlighted section is about campaign practices. I'm impressed. She's beefing up on facts that she won't have to use for another two years.  
  
Then something catches my eye. A name, actually. Patrick Caddell. The book goes into detail about his thesis. The entire passage is highlighted and there are copious notes in the margins. Not that I can read them, mind you--it is Donna's writing, after all. But still.  
  
Back in 1988, Caddell was a polling expert for Democratic Senator Alan Cranston in California. He figured out that the only way Cranston would win the Senate seat again was if there was low voter turnout. So he devised a brilliant strategy--Piss 'im off with politics. By airing nothing but negative campaign ads, Cranston made the public so sick of the election that the turnout for the election was very low. And Cranston won the seat.  
  
The move is a classic one. I just wonder why Donna has taken such an interest in it. Maybe I'll ask her tomorrow. I also intend to find out why she's been hiding this David guy from me. It's not like I'm going to cut him down at the knees or anything... Maybe the ankles...  
  
  
  
  
~*~ PART TWO ~*~  
  
Early Monday morning, the phone rings on my desk. "Josh Lyman's office," I answer.  
  
"Hi Donna. It's me," Margaret says.  
  
"Hey. What's up?"  
  
"Would you mind coming to Leo's office for a minute? He'd like to talk to you."  
  
Margaret sounds like she's keeping a colossal secret, and is loving every minute of it. Good. This eases my fears-I am rarely called to Leo's office unless Josh has done something unbelievably stupid and the Chief of Staff wants to make sure I keep him from doing it again. But if that were the case, I think that Margaret would sound a little more concerned.  
  
"Sure. I'll be right over."  
  
At least, I don't think that Josh has done something stupid. But with the way he's been acting lately, it's hard to tell. He's like some hyperactive Frat boy.  
  
I can't follow what's going on in his head anymore. I keep catching him staring off into space, and I don't have any clue why. I think Joey Lucas threw us out of step. I can tell he's hiding something from me. And I have the terrible suspicion that he can tell I'm hiding something from him.  
  
"Good morning, Donna," Leo McGarry says politely as I enter his office. Behind me, I hear Margaret giggle. Leo shoots her a look and she abruptly stops.  
  
I clear my throat. "Good morning, Leo."  
  
"Now, you probably have no idea why I called you here-"  
  
"No..."  
  
"Well," I watch as Leo assumes his speech stance-chest out, hands behind his back. "As you know, this Friday is Big Block of Cheese Day-"  
  
"The day on which in the memory of Andrew Jackson, we open our doors and our ears to those who aren't normally heard by the President," I interject. May as well save the man a speech.  
  
"Er...yeah. And I know how you mock it-"  
  
I try not to mock it. I really do. But I'll just blame it on Josh's influence. "Why would we mock the spirit of a two ton block of cheese?"  
  
"Donna, I swear I will sic the ghost of Andrew Jackson on you."  
  
"Sorry. So you want me to be in charge of dolling all the chunks of cheese out?"  
  
He looks confused. I affect many people that way. "No. I just wanted to let you know that for a while now we have all-and Josh especially-considered you more of a junior member of the senior staff."  
  
I think I am blushing. "Thank you."  
  
"The work you do is just as important although not as high-profile as the rest of ours, so I want to give you a Big Block of Cheese day assignment. I'm sure you can deal with it as efficiently as you do everything else," he finishes up, and directing me towards the door. I'm so stunned I don't even notice I'm outside his office until Margaret elbows me.  
  
"Congratulations, Donna!" she squeals.   
  
"Um...thanks. Wow. Did you have something to do with this?"  
  
She shakes her head and her red hair flies up into her face. "No. But I think the President personally approved it."  
  
"Of course he approved it," I retort. "He knows how everybody hates Big Block of Cheese Day. He likes to torture as many people as he can. You're next, Margaret," I warn her. But I can't stop grinning.  
  
"I'll keep that in mind," she promises. Then she gives me a little push. "For goodness sake, go tell everyone, Donna!"  
  
So I do. I had mean to tell CJ first, just because she might want to mention it at the Monday morning briefing (don't look at me like that--you never know), but I end up telling Denis the Custodian instead. He congratulates me, and I just move right through the halls and inform everybody I know. And a few people I don't. Then I get back to my desk.  
  
"Josh!" I yell.  
  
"What?" he bellows back.  
  
"Guess what?" I yell.  
  
"I couldn't possibly," he shouts back.  
  
This is a battle of wills. To see who will give in, get up, and actually walk to the other person's desk. Josh usually wins these because, well, he's the boss. But today I don't care.  
  
I saunter into his office and push the door open. Instead of hitting the wall, it hits something else and bounces back.  
  
"Ow!" Josh whines.  
  
"Josh, what are you doing?" I ask, looking behind the door. "I thought you decided to stop this after CJ gave you a black eye."  
  
He pushes himself off the wall and moves to his desk. "If you keep saying that people are going to wonder why I haven't pressed charges," he complains, "It wasn't CJ. It was the door. In fact, I'm think of getting one of those lightweight aluminum deals. It'll hurt less."  
  
I stare at him for a moment. "Whatever. Listen--you'll never guess what's just happened!"   
  
"You just got a Block of Cheese assignment and you have to meet with a minority group of alien abductees?"   
  
"Yes! Well, kind of. You're half-right. Isn't it great?"  
  
"I don't envy you. I heard that they use the X-Files as a justification of their--"  
  
"Josh!" I pout.  
  
Josh stops finally and gives me a genuine smile, dimples and all. "Seriously, Donna--congratulations. I would say 'You deserve it', but when we're talking about Big Block of Cheese Day, the compliment is kind of thin."  
  
"I think it is a great tradition," I argue.  
  
"It may be, but I don't think he has to give us the speech _every_ year."  
  
"I like the speech. And it will be my first Big Block of Cheese speech, so I want to hear it."  
  
"I don't like the speech."  
  
"Curmudgeon," I retort.  
  
"I am not! Now go!" he orders, pointing to the door, "Work. Y'know, that thing you get paid for?"  
  
I shoot him a look. "Okay, okay...But even if Leo doesn't give the speech, I've got it memorized, so I--"  
  
"Go!"  
  
I go. And in the process of performing the duties for which I am presumably paid, I manage to tell the entire West Wing. I then make it back to my desk in time for lunch, where I find Josh waiting for me.  
  
Like Sam, Josh too has predictable guilt patterns. Unlike Sam's, they manifest themselves in hauntings and good-natured insults. Depending on the severity of his guilt, it usually takes Josh about two hours to feel bad about whatever faux pas he's committed.   
  
It is for this reason that I am immediately alarmed when I see him in my chair. To my knowledge, he hasn't done anything unusually rude today. At least, not to me...  
  
"Donna!" he exclaims when he sees me.  
  
"Hi Josh. Why aren't you working? Y'know, that thing you get paid for?"  
  
He fiddles around with the book on my desk and then moves on the jar of hand crème. "I am one of the most important people in the country. Don't you think I can decide to have a break now and then?"  
  
"Did I schedule one for you?" I demand.  
  
He looks like a little boy caught ditching school. I fight the urge to straighten his tie. "Um...no," he finally replies.  
  
"Then you don't have time to decide to take a break. You're supposed to be at lunch with Senator Callahan in half an hour."  
  
Josh says something very rude about Senator Callahan and then looks at me hopefully. "You want to go to lunch, Donna?"  
  
"Josh, I refuse to be a buffer between you and the Senator."  
  
"Donna, he likes you. He can't stand me."  
  
"Which is exactly why you'd better not be late for this lunch," I say, pulling him up out of the chair. "You'll only make things worse for yourself."  
  
Josh allows himself to be evicted from my office space. Not that he had much choice in the matter. After the shooting, I developed pretty impressive strength from helping him around.  
  
He pauses at his office door. "You know Donna--I'm getting this weird feeling you don't want to go to lunch with me."  
  
Of course I don't. I'm having enough trouble dealing with this...thing...as it is. Seeing him during my lunch break would only make it harder.   
  
Still, the offer to watch Josh in action and get a free meal is awfully tempting. Except, I remember suddenly, I am already scheduled to get a free meal. David's taking me out.  
  
"Josh, there is nothing I'd rather do than eat and watch two grown men engage in a verbal schoolyard punch-up," I say. Josh looks like he's not quite sure to be pleased or offended. He decides on pleased.  
  
"Great! Go get your coat."  
  
"But I can't," I continue. "I'm meeting a friend for lunch."  
  
Well, it is the truth. And it seems like and innocuous enough thing to say. However, Josh immediately goes on full-suspicion alert. "Stephanie's in town already?"  
  
"No." That's it. Keep the answers short, Donna.  
  
"Who is it?"  
  
Hmm. I really don't want to tell him about David until I have successfully hooked him up with someone. Just so that if anything happens, in regards to our...thing...we will always have our dates to stand in the way. Life will be safer. I like to call it Operation Date-A-Politician. But the Joey Lucas attempt failed so spectacularly, I need a little time to regroup. Unfortunately, Josh isn't going to let this go. I know from experience.  
  
"You wouldn't know him." Him? Did I seriously just say 'him'? Oh, God. Now I get to deal with Irate Josh preaching about the unworthiness of local men and why I settle for them.  
  
Which, when you think about it in those terms, is actually kind of sweet.   
  
Focus, Moss! I order myself. If anything Josh says comes off sounding sweet, it's a safe bet it wasn't intended. I tear my thoughts from the path they are currently traversing, and back to where Josh is exploding all over the hallway.  
  
Except that he isn't. He is standing there, looking relaxed, with a smile on his face.  
  
And my pathetic self-esteem takes another battering.  
  
If there is one thing I have always been sure of, it is Josh's ability to fly off the handle when there is even the hint of a man in my life. It is one of those strange little constants that annoys the hell out of me. So why does his current calmness disturb me so much?  
  
Because it's a sure sign that I am, after all, the only one feeling this "thing". I may as well come right out and call it a crush, be it sure as heck ain't two-sided. Josh doesn't care.  
  
Fine. I can deal with that.  
  
  
~*~ PART THREE ~*~  
  
Josh casually puts his hands in his pockets and then compounds my sudden humiliation by saying, "Oh. Are you meeting that David guy?"   
  
"Uh...yeah. How do you know David?"  
  
"Sam told me. Why didn't you tell me you were seeing someone?"  
  
"I didn't think it was important," I mumble.  
  
"Of course it is!" he says jovially. "I want to meet the man who is taking my assistant away from work!" He pauses, and re-thinks the last sentence. "I mean, the man who...who..."  
  
Apparently he didn't re-think it hard enough.  
  
I look at my watch. "Josh, you really ought to be leaving."  
  
"Can't I at least shake his hand before I go?" He has his pleading face on. I hate that face.  
  
"Well...okay. I'll give him a call and ask him to pick me up here. But then you're really going to have to run. Callahan will have his assistant harassing me for a week if you don't make this meeting."  
  
Josh just nods angelically and disappears into his office. I pick up the phone and call David.  
  
"Legal Affairs, this is Dave Marienetti," he answers.  
  
"Hi, David! Guess what?"  
  
"What?" he sounds amused.  
  
"Josh wants to meet you. Is that okay? Would you be able to pick me up in a few minutes?"  
  
"Joshua Lyman wants to meet lil' old me?" David is definitely amused. That beats terrified-the reaction I usually get. I guess my tales of Josh's exploits haven't scared him off.  
  
"Yeah, lil' old you, you big ham. Feel up to it?" As I talk to him I rearrange the items on my desk, tidying up. It never hurts to make a good impression.   
  
"That'll be fine. How's Italian sound for lunch?"  
  
According to my friend Teeny, spaghetti or anything with tomato sauce should be avoided on any and all dates. Anything that could go wrong will go wrong with those foods, she says. "That'll fine. See you in a minute,"I reply.   
  
"Seven, actually," David amends.   
  
"What?"  
  
"Seven minutes. It takes me seven minutes to get from my desk to yours. At least, that's how long it takes for you to get from yours to mine."  
  
"You time how long it takes me to get to your office?" I squeak. That surpasses my freakishness, I decide. I like it.  
  
"Well, yeah. But you've got to take into account the fact that I am going to be going up all those flights of stairs-"  
  
"You could take the elevator," I remind him. There is silence on the other end.   
  
"I...Um, I'm not all that comfortable with elevators," he says finally.   
  
"Oh." Nicely done, Donna. "Well, okay. Taking into account that you will be going up all those stairs, I will expect you in nine minutes."  
  
"But there are so many stairs..."  
  
I giggle. Yes, I actually giggle. "Then you'd better get started!"  
  
He sighs, but I can hear the smile. Yep, David will be good for me. I'm sure of it. "See you in nine minutes, Donna."  
  
"'Kay."  
  
David hangs up and I smile stupidly into the phone for a moment.   
  
"That was a long conversation," Josh comments. "The man is only three flights down." He leans casually against my desk.  
  
"Will you stop sneaking up on me?" I demand.  
  
Josh looks wounded. "I was not sneaking. I walked right in front of you. It's not my fault you're floating around in Dodo Land." He opens my hand crème and smells it. Okay, so Josh is somewhat freakish, too.   
  
"_Dodo Land_?"  
  
"Shut up," he tells me. I notice he is watching the door, and the clock.  
  
"Josh, you don't know what he looks like."   
  
"Yeah, I do," he says absently. And then he looks at me and sucks in his breath.  
  
I narrow my eyes, "How do you know what he looks like?"  
  
Josh motions vaguely. "I hear all, I know all..."  
  
"I bet. What did you do, Josh?" Actually, I'm not sure I even want to know.  
  
"He had a background check run on him," Sam says, materializing behind him.  
  
I am stunned. I should have expected something of the sort, because David works in the White House and is therefore within Josh's jurisdiction, but still... "What?" I finally manage.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
Sam leans in conspiratorially. "Josh got a hold of his FBI file," he whispers.  
  
Josh rounds on his friend. "Next time I end up with Redskins tickets, you're not getting them."  
  
"I don't like the Redskins. Don't you think Donna should know that her boyfriend isn't a serial killer?"  
  
"He's not her boyfriend," Josh objects. It just so happens that I was about to make a similar objection, but who told him that? How does he know David's not my boyfriend? He could be. He's not, but he could be.  
  
"Why isn't he my boyfriend?" I demand.  
  
My boss clears his throat and tries to look superior to the argument. "Because you've only been to five lunches and a dinner with him. I'd call that more of a low-grade fling."  
  
I shoot up out of my chair and come nose to nose with Josh. "How," I grind out, "Do you know how many times I've been out with David?"  
  
"He's been checking up on you, Donna." Sam is having a lot of fun with this and Josh is not appreciating it one bit.  
  
"I'm not the only one," Josh reminds him.  
  
Sam looks slightly guilty. I throw my hands up in the air and start tossing things in my purse. "I don't believe you two. David is a great guy. And this thing you're doing-I'm sure it's an abuse of power! What if Leo finds out?"  
  
"What if Leo finds out about what?" That man asks curiously, and we all jump. There must be something seriously anti-Feng Shui-ish about the bullpen--people keep popping up like ghosts.  
  
I look at Sam. He looks at Josh. Josh looks at the floor in front of his shoes. Leo McGarry looks suspiciously at us all. "Will someone please tell me what's going on?"  
  
"It's kind of a funny story, actually-" Josh starts, at the same time I say, "It's not really anything important-"  
  
"Mr. Lyman! Great to finally meet you!" a voice carols out. Josh and I both pause our pathetic excuse-giving attempts and turn. David has arrived, and he is energetically pumping Sam Seaborn's hand.  
  
Sam looks very amused. "Actually, I'm not-"  
  
"I'm Josh Lyman," Josh says, stepping forward and extending a hand. "Mister...?"  
  
He certainly knows that this person is David. I guess he's playing politics, trying to get the upper hand. Poor David is out of his league.  
  
Or so I think until I catch a glimpse of his handsome face. His eyes have an odd mischievous glint in them. He's playing Josh just as much as Josh is playing him. Oh God.  
  
"Dave Marienetti. I've heard so much about you!" David continues, flashing a winning smile. Josh doesn't reciprocate this, opting instead for a Master Politician's frown.  
  
"I haven't heard anything about you."   
  
Sam snorts. I cover my eyes. "Josh, you've got to make that meeting with Callahan. Now," I prompt. He ignores me.  
  
"Oh, yeah. You're the new guy in Legal. Is this your first time in Washington?"  
  
David's smile hardens a little. "No. Actually I worked here in 1998, when those allegations were launched against the President. The previous President," he clarifies. Despite myself, I think, 'Duh'.  
  
Leo is still looking confused. He interrupts the male posturing and demands, "Who are you?"  
  
David blinks. "Dave Marienetti."  
  
"I know that. I meant, why are you here?"  
  
"Oh. I'm taking Donna out to lunch."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"Um, Antonio's. I've heard it's really good."  
  
Time to intervene, I decide. "So have I," I pipe up. "But we'll never know for sure if we don't get there, huh, David?" I put on my coat and take his arm.  
  
"What time are you going to be back?" Leo continues. I feel like he's going to be asking David whether or not his intentions are honorable. What has gotten into these people today?  
  
"By the end of my lunch break," I reply. "Josh. You need to go to your meeting. You're going to be late." I drag David towards the door and shove Josh back into his office.  
  
Now that David's not looking, he lets the frown slip and smiles at me. "I'm going, I'm going. No need to get physical..."  
  
I am incapable of a reply. That was a full-blown, dimpled, 'I'm The Man' smile. I usually find it somewhat charming when it's not directed at me. Unfortunately, I think this one was. He has found a challenge and he intends to master it--me.  
  
I roll my eyes at him, but on the way out of the building I can feel my stomach doing a familiar flip-flop anyway. I order it to stop. I will get over whatever bizarre thing afflicts me, because I have to. Josh should not make my stomach flip-flop-David should. And that's that.  
  
~*~ PART FOUR ~*~  
  
I've entitled it Operation Moss.  
  
I'm thinking it may need subtitles, now. It started out as a mission to disprove what Joey told me, after the State of the Union. It has now expanded to include not only a plan to sabotage Donna's attempts to date Dave Marienetti, but also an investigation into why Donna is reading Patrick Caddell. This last aspect of Operation Moss is what has me on edge, because, to my way of thinking, it can mean only one thing.  
  
Donnatella Moss has been manipulating me.  
  
Yeah, I know. This comes as a huge shock to Josh Lyman fans everywhere, huh? I mean, Donna's been able to manipulate me since the campaign--lucky for the administration she's a good guy. And she doesn't have complete power over me. I can still stand up against her. Like I did on that repetitive stress kick she was on a while back.  
  
Well, maybe that's a bad example. Truth is, I was on the verge of caving when Leo reminded us that we are exempt from most work-place laws.   
  
Okay, so there really aren't that many glaring examples of my stubbornness in the face of manipulation. But I can stand my ground against power of Donna Moss. Really.  
  
The way I figure it, Donna is using the trusty reverse psychology routine on me. That is the basis of the Caddell thesis--you spend so much time pushing a negative idea that eventually people say, "Screw it," and end up doing exactly what you wanted them to do in the first place.  
  
What did Donna want me to do in the first place?  
  
More importantly, have I done it?  
  
Oh, the questions, the questions....  
  
"'I haven't heard anything about you?'" Sam repeats skeptically. I realize I'm watching Donna retreat, towing Marienetti behind her like a wheeled suitcase.   
  
"Well, not from Donna, anyway..." I hedge.  
  
"That was infantile, Josh. But that's okay, because you're not jealous. Right?"  
  
I flip through some nearby files for no particular reason. "Can we leave that already, Sam?" I think I may be whining. Damn. This situation gets better and better. "I'm not jealous. I'm just...concerned."  
  
"Okay," Sam says. I don't think he believes me. "So what do you have planned?"  
  
I look over at my new partner in crime...er-fellow rescue operative-and grin.  
  
"I call it Operation Moss," I say proudly. This is when I realize that Leo is nearby, talking with one of the staffers about something. Maybe he was too far away. Maybe he didn't hear...  
  
"What's this about an operation?" He asks.  
  
Oh, well.  
  
"My brother's having an operation," I cover. Leo's eyes narrow.  
  
"You don't have a brother," he reminds me.  
  
"Right. Um, Sam's brother-"  
  
"Sam doesn't have a brother either."  
  
Okay, I'm on the verge of floundering, here. "Actually, we were discussing lyrics. You know, for songs?"  
  
Leo puts his hands in his pockets. "I know what lyrics are, Josh."  
  
"Yeah. Well, these are great lyrics. See, this guy goes to emergency-the hospital, and gets an operation on his teeth. And he's someone's brother..."  
  
My boss looks at me like I'm insane-a possibility which I've been starting to consider myself, actually. And Sam's not much help. He has his 'Wide-Eyed and Innocent' face on, also known as the 'I Don't Know Who This Person Is, I've Never Seen Him In My Life' face. I haven't seen that face since the last time we were both at the same party.  
  
"On his teeth?" Leo is asking, "Why isn't he going to the dentist?"  
  
"Um..."  
  
Leo waves his hand, dismissing it. "I don't want to know. And I don't care what you're up to, so long as I'm not going to be reading about it in the Washington Post. Am I, Josh?"  
  
There's an idea--what if Davy Boy is actually a reporter for some sleazy magazine? He's under cover and is pumping Donna for information about...hmm. I need some time to work on that one.  
  
"Not a chance, Leo. This is nothing. There is no thing happening here." I try to inject every bit of persuasive charm I possess into these encouraging statements, but I don't think Leo appreciates it. He shakes his head and heads back to his office, bellowing for Margaret.  
  
Sam has dropped the face and is trying not to laugh. "Don Henley, Josh? You massacred a perfectly good song."  
  
"Shut up, Sam."  
  
Of course he doesn't. "That is the worst excuse I've ever heard," he continues.  
  
I smirk. "And you're sure in a position to judge. How exactly is it worse than, 'I accidentally slept with a prostitute?' That is the all-time doozie, in my opinion."  
  
We step into my office. "_Have_ you accidentally slept with a prostitute?"  
  
"No!" I say, shocked. That's something only Sam could do.   
  
"Then shut up. It's a lot easier to do than you might think." He walks past me and makes himself comfortable in the visitor's chair. Oddly enough, he no longer gets offended about any cracks I make about Laurie. I need new blackmail material. "Tell me about this Operation Moss," he advises, steepling his fingers like Sherlock Homes.  
  
"Well, actually, it's just a really good name so far," I admit. "Things keep happening, and I'm afraid I may have to up-grade it to a full-blown conflict."  
  
"So we need a plan."  
  
"Yeah." I decided now is a pretty good time to stand against the wall. I think meeting Dave-what kind of name is that, anyway? It almost demands you pronounce it in a Ben Stein kind of voice-knocked my blood-pressure up a few notches.  
  
Now there's a strategy. I'll tell Donna she needs to stop seeing this guy because his existence is detrimental to my health.  
  
Nah. I mean, it would probably work. But I'm not sure I want Davy Boy gone enough to worry her like that. Plus, if I remind her about my blood-pressure, she'll start appropriating all my fried foods again.  
  
"And we don't want her to know that you're sabotaging her relationship, right?"  
  
I sigh and lean my head against the cool wall. "Sabotage is kind of a strong word, Sam-"  
  
"What would you call it?"  
  
Well, okay, put like that..."I guess sabotage is just as good a word as any. And no, if we let her know, then this isn't an Operation, is it? It would just become some kind of summit."  
  
A large yellow legal pad and a pen magically appear in Sam's hands. I don't know how he does that. "Okay. Josh?"  
  
I'd lift my head off the wall to look at him, but I can't be bothered. "Yeah?"  
  
"You need to stop with the terminology. The whole 'Operation Moss' thing is catchy, but that's as far as I'll go. No Moss Summits."  
  
I roll my eyes. "You're not keeping up, Sam. I just said we don't want a Moss Summit, because that would basically ruin any chance of sabo-"  
  
  
"Right." Sam cuts me off, and starts scribbling madly on the legal pad. "After all, the idea of you and Donna in a room, talking about relationships like rational adults is too impossible to even begin to imagine..."  
  
"Sam, do I detect a waver in your support? Is it conceivable that you could question your best friend as he sets out to save his---his---" My mind goes completely blank for a moment.  
  
"Assistant?" Sam suggests helpfully.  
  
"-Assistant from a fate worse than, um---many, many things?"  
  
My best friend gives a little smile and then writes something on his pad. "That's our mission then, right? 'Save Assistant Deputy Chief of Staff from fates worse than many, many things?"  
  
Oh, hell. If you can't be honest with your best friend, who can you be honest with? "Actually, lets just focus on Dave Marienetti for now," I decide.   
  
Sam sighs, puts the pad and pen down on my desk and stands up in front of me. "Why?" he asks.  
  
"Why what?"  
  
"Why are you doing this to Donna? Again?"  
  
He looks deadly serious. And I know from experience that there's no point in trying to side-track him when he looks like that. But that doesn't stop me from trying.  
  
"Doing what?"  
  
"Damn it, Josh!" he says a little loudly, "You know what! I like the guy. In fact, I think you'd like him too, if you weren't being so...well, you."  
  
"Why do people insist on saying that like it's some kind of insult? And there's not a chance in hell I'd like Marienetti in any context, in any time, in any universe. The guy could be the next free-loader to collide into the life of Donna Moss."  
  
Sam looks less angry. "Or he could be good for her."  
  
"He could be a serial-killer. I need to look into how his first wife died."  
  
"He's not a serial-killer, Josh. You've got to stop this some time, you know that, right?"   
  
Yeah. I'll stop it when I stop feeling this weird sense of alarm every time Donna says she's going out on a date. If there's one thing I always trust, it's my instincts. "Sure," I lie. "But until then, you'll help me plan, won't you?"  
  
He looks reluctant, but eventually sits back down and picks up the note pad. I relax against the wall and wait for inspiration to strike, but nothing comes. After a moment, Sam says, "You realize he was playing you like violin."  
  
I smirk. "I did get the vague impression that in some feeble-minded way he was trying to. But y'know what?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I knew exactly what he was doing. That, my friend, is what separates the men from the boys in this business."  
  
Sam mulls this over for a second. "The obvious assumption to be drawn from that statement being---"  
  
I chuckle evilly. "He's green, Sam. I'm going to beat him around like a piñata."  
  
  
  
  
The End  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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